Choosing the Right Side
by Hekate1308
Summary: He wasn't a man who was impressed easily. Then he met Sherlock Holmes. DI Dimmock, Post-Reichenbach.


**Author's note: I couldn't help it... My faithful readers will know (and for any new ones that might present themselves, I will put it here) that I love writing fanfictions about characters that are either unappreciated or unacknowledged by the audience/the fans. And I started to think about DI Dimmock, I know, we only see him in one episode, and that's what happened... I just couldn't help it. I had to write something about him. Plus, I wanted to write something different than another chapter for "Made Weak By Time And Fate, But strong In Will", though, don't worry. This one just wouldn't leave me alone.**

**I don't own anything, and please review. **

He wasn't a man who was impressed easily.

Until he met Sherlock Holmes, that is.

Being the youngest in a family of five – one older brother and one older sister, his parents paled in comparison – he'd learned to fight for what he wanted. Which is the reason he became a Detective Inspector that quickly. He'd always known how to present himself so that he wouldn't be overlooked; he'd always known that he would have to be proud of what he could do, and what he would do, to finally achieve what he had always dreamed of, and become a DI – and not any DI, but the youngest in the force.

And then he met Sherlock Holmes.

He had just finished the call which only told him where the crime scene was, when his phone rang again, and this time, a number he didn't know appeared on his screen. He answered anyway.

"DI Dimmock".

"Hello, DI Lestrade speaking. I am informed you are going to the supposed city suicide?"

He was slightly confused. "Yes, sir". He might by now be of the same rank as DI Lestrade, but the man was more or less a legend at the Yard. The one who solved the most cases, the one who looked at a crime scene and _knew_. Who knew when someone had committed suicide. Who knew when he had to ask for more forensic techs. And who knew – although the name didn't mean more, when Dimmock heard it for the first time, than a cafeteria rumour, when to call Sherlock Holmes.

So he stayed at the "sir", especially because DI Lestrade was at least ten years older than him. And Lestrade certainly didn't correct him.

"Sherlock Holmes called this one in, so I wouldn't be surprised if there was more to it than a desperate City Boy."

"Really?" he asked, though more to be polite than for any other reason; Gun found next to the dead body, gunshot wound to the right temple – what else could it be?

"Trust me" Lestrade said, "When Sherlock Holmes decides it's not suicide, it is not suicide. There's something about it that's... I can't really explain it, but that i how he works. Just let him do what he does best."

"I'll try" he'd said, because there really wasn't anything else left to say, and Lestrade, right before he'd hung up, had answered "Just give him a chance. And try neither to arrest nor to punch him, please".

Dimmock had simply hung up after that – just like Lestrade apparently – and hadn't given a second thought to the older DI's secret weapon. Brilliant intellect and all, he didn't think that... amateur could solve a crime any quicker than he could. If it was a crime, that is. He wasn't convinced; The youngest DI was usually sent to the unimportant cases, after all. And just because _someone _who also happened to find the body was convinced there was something about it that warranted questioning...

Still, he took a certain satisfaction out of the fact that, if DI Lestrade hadn't been on a seminar, he'd surely have come. That was something, at least: to come to a crime scene the Yard's finest would have chosen for himself, if he had the chance.

He hadn't been prepared for how arrogant Holmes would be, however.

"_Sergeant! Sherlock Holmes, I don't think we have met."_

The arrogant sod could wait forever for him to shake his hand. No way this was going to happen.

His constant companion, at least, was somewhat polite and easy to talk to. And he couldn't deny they had handed him a murder investigation on a silver tablet.

And then, Sherlock Holmes proved to be right about everything, to be honest. The "suicide" that was murder all along, the smuggling ring, the code, _everything_.

"_I have high hopes for you, Inspector. A glittering career."_

"_If I go where you point me."_

"_Exactly"._

And when he met Lestrade after the case, when he'd just found out that the smugglers appeared to have found another book, so he couldn't track down their whole organization, but he still got praise from up high, the Di just smiled and said, "I told you so".

And he had been right, and Dimmock had called Mr. Holmes – no, Sherlock – now and then, when he'd been stuck on a case. And the consulting detective – that was his title, after all, and he'd learned early to always call people by their proper titles – had always helped him out, though he'd never come to another crime scene again. He'd just said something like "That's a four at the most, so please, just tell me how the body was found", or something very similar, and Dimmock had explained, and then he'd solved the case within minutes.

Which was why, even after the "amateur", as Anderson still put it, had been discredited and proclaimed a fraud and had committed suicide because of it, Dimmock refused to believe it.

He might have fought for his position; he might not have been convinced the very first time he met Sherlock Holmes, but he was now. It was impossible that the consulting detective had been a fraud; he'd been right too many times.

And so, when he was confronted with a choice, it wasn't a choice at all, really.

He had heard, of course, that DI Lestrade had been suspended – stupid, stupid idea, really, they decided to punish a DI who had always done his best, and was one of the best detectives the XÝrad had ever had.

But, then, he saw him sitting in the cafeteria, after another hearing, and he was drinking his coffee all alone and Anderson, the forensic guy he'd never liked, and Sergeant Donavan where sitting at the other end of the hall, with a large group...

It wasn't a decision at all, to be honest.

He took his coffee, went over to the table and asked, "Sir, do you mind if I joined you?"

Lestrade looked up, then he smiled, a sad smile, but still a smile. "No, of course not".

They sat in silence, for a while. Then, Dimmock couldn't hold it in anymore, and he proclaimed, "You know, I think Sherlock Holmes lied all along".

Lestrade shot him a look – that would have been quite enough to scare Donavan and Anderson, but he wasn't faced at all.

"About the times I tried to call him in, I mean. I don' think every single one was a "four" – I just believe he preferred working with you, sir."

At this, Lestrade smiled – for real, this time. "I think the time of "Sir" has come and gone – Call me Greg, will you?"

And, just like that, he'd chosen a side.

He never regretted it, especially as the reinvestigation of Sherlock Holmes' old cases only brought out that he's been right all along, even when Anderson only threw the file with the new forensic evidence on his desk without acknowledging him at all, or Donavan decided to ignore him when he asked her a simple question. Lestr – Greg had drinks with him, from time to time, and he got the autopsy results faster than anyone else, thanks to the nice woman who worked at the morgue. He knew the truth, that was enough. And if that meant he'd never be made a DCI, so be it.

And if, once Sherlock Holmes returned and everything was back to normal, the consulting detective suddenly decided Dimmock's cases were worth his while, he didn't comment on it. Neither did Sherlock, though he started to greet him at crime scenes and when they met at the Yard.

He was happy. For once in his life, he'd chosen the right side for the simple reason that it was the right side, not because it meant he had to fight to get to the top.

And that was all that mattered.

**Author's note: I just realized that I joined fanfiction about a month ago, and, during this time, I've turned John into Moriarty, somehow created a Sherlock/Sally universe, written fics about Mike Stamford and Anderson, and tried to create a convincing AU about Sherlock as a cocaine addict (that one's till ongoing), besides dedicating quite a couple of stories to DI Lestrade. So, I think, I've at least brought a little more colour to this site, even if my fics tend to turn in a rather... weird... direction. I'm happy, and that's something, right? Anyway, a big thanks you to all my followers/readers.**

**And, again,**

**Me (staring at my Mind): A fic about DI Dimmock, honestly?**

**Mind (looking sheepish): Well, he is a character too, isn't he?**

**Me: well, uf you put it like that...**

**I hope you liked this story, please review.**


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